


Provenance

by citrinesunset



Category: White Collar
Genre: Coming Out, Gen, Season/Series 04, Transgender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-28
Updated: 2013-09-28
Packaged: 2017-12-27 20:00:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/983009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/citrinesunset/pseuds/citrinesunset
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are parts of Neal's past that he's never told Peter about, but when Peter discovers some discrepancies in Neal's story, they have a conversation that Neal had hoped to avoid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Provenance

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in early season 4, sometime after "Parting Shots" and before "Vested Interest." I've tried to keep this relatively plausible, both in terms of canon and how FTM transitions usually work in real life. Since this is Neal, who lives a charmed life and has a lot of resources, I decided it was plausible enough (and in-character) that he could have had fairly extensive surgeries and have awesome results early in his life, even though a lot of guys never do. Also, I think this can work with the timeline of Neal's life before he was arrested without diverging much from canon, but I am taking a few liberties.

When Peter showed up at Neal's apartment at seven PM, saying he needed to talk to him about something, it wasn't entirely a surprise.

Neal had been waiting for this ever since he opened up to Peter outside the evidence warehouse.

"You want something to drink?" he asked. "Coffee?"

Peter was leaning on one of the dining room chairs. He pursed his lips for a moment, as though considering the offer. "All right. Maybe one cup."

Neal was glad—Peter was clearly on edge, and he wanted to calm him down before they talked.

Neither of them spoke while Neal made the coffee. Before Peter had shown up, Neal had been doing some research on postmodern French artwork for a case, and his books were still spread out on the coffee table.

When the coffee was done, he handed Peter his cup. Peter sat down at the table, and Neal joined him.

"So, what did you want to talk about?"

Peter took a deep breath. "The story you told me, about your past? It doesn't check out. There was no minor named Danny Brooks in WITSEC. At least not in St. Louis."

"Well, Danny was a nickname...."

"No Daniel Brooks, either. Also, there's no record of a Neal Bennett born in Washington D.C. in the year you were born." Peter shook his head. "Neal...I know you've never wanted to share about your past, and I've respected that. But you can't open up and then give me false information. You had to have known I'd check."

"It wasn't false...just not technically accurate."

Peter blinked. "What does that even mean?"

Neal couldn't see any way around telling him. Not without lying to Peter. And that was a line he wasn't prepared to cross. Part of him had always anticipated that this day would come.

"Danielle," he said.

"What?"

"Danielle Brooks. That was my WITSEC name."

Peter still looked just as confused. "They gave you a girl's name? Why?"

He'd hoped Peter would get the hint, but apparently he had to spell it out. "Because I was born Faith Bennett. That's why."

To Neal's relief, revelation finally dawned on Peter's face. Peter was a smart guy—Neal couldn't imagine that this was a completely foreign concept to him.

Still, Peter looked uncertain. "You're saying you were born a girl?" he asked.

Looking down at his coffee, Neal shrugged and said, "That's what I'm saying."

Peter sat back in his chair. For a long, awkward minute, he just stared at Neal.

With a sigh, Neal said, "See? This is a big part of why I never told you."

"What?" Peter asked, blinking. "I'm just trying to process this information."

"Well, can you process it without staring? You see me almost every day—if you haven't noticed anything yet...."

Peter's eyes widened and he shook his head. "No—no, I wasn't...I mean, you look great. I really can't tell."

"I know. That's kind of the idea."

Underneath the surprise, Peter's face betrayed the intrigue he always showed when he learned something new about Neal. Neal really wasn't ready for his past to become a part of Peter's mental file of interesting facts about Neal Caffrey, but, well, he'd opened this door himself.

Clearing his throat, Peter said, "How long have you...you know?"

Neal could think of half a dozen things Peter meant by that question, and none of them were simple. And he wasn't going to go into detail. Peter didn't know about his dick. And Peter definitely didn't need to know that Neal had once drunkenly nicknamed his dick "Monet" because a Monet had paid for it. Actually, there were quite a few things Peter didn't need to know about.

"I've been living as a guy for a long time," Neal said. "I was already on hormones when I came to New York."

"But you were in prison! No one noticed?"

"Well, I did get hormones. It wasn't easy, because it's a pain getting medication in prison and testosterone doesn't come in pills, but I managed."

"Yeah, but your file says that was for a problem with low testosterone."

"Which is technically true."

Peter's eyes narrowed. "You falsified your medical records."

Neal bristled. "I did what I needed to. If I'd been honest, they might have put me in ad seg while they figured out what to do with me. I just saved everyone the trouble."

"And you were never caught?"

Neal shrugged. "When you've had surgery, you have good genetics, and your medical records are in order, people don't wonder much."

Peter looked almost impressed, but Neal knew that a lot of it was luck. Testosterone had a good effect on him, and he was tall. Things like that made a big difference.

He'd also had money. A lot of it.

"Listen," Neal said, "I never lied to you. This is who I am. If I didn't have the surgeries, I'd still be Neal Caffrey. Just...a less complete version of him, maybe."

Peter frowned. "It's just a big thing to find out. Why didn't you tell me?"

"It's complicated, Peter."

"Look, I can connect the dots, here. You falsified medical records. You probably forged prescriptions. And I'm guessing these surgeries you mentioned weren't paid for with money you obtained legally. Did you think you'd be in trouble if the FBI found out?"

Neal got up and walked over to his wine rack. For a conversation like this, he needed something stronger than caffeine.

"I think plausible deniability is an essential part of our working relationship."

Peter frowned. "I'm not just your _boss_ , Neal. And as for any laws you may have broken, I don't think the FBI is going to be too concerned about this."

Neal heard some hesitation in Peter's voice, and Neal understood. Compared to the other things Neal had been accused of, falsifying his own medical records to obtain treatment wasn't a very big offense. They'd been happy to look the other way often enough. But after what had happened with Kramer, Neal realized he couldn't take that for granted.

He also understood why Peter saw his lack of openness as lack of trust.

He didn't want Peter to think he was ashamed, though a small part of him wondered if he actually _was_. He hated to remember the past. But another part of him was immensely proud of what he'd done with himself.

Neal poured himself a glass of wine and rejoined Peter at the table.

"Look," Neal said, "back when you were chasing me, how would you have described me?"

Peter gave him an exasperated look. "How is this relevant?"

"Just answer my question."

With a sigh, Peter said, "I liked your attention to detail. I've seen some pretty bad forgeries, so the good work stands out."

Neal avoided the opportunity to gloat over that. "Exactly. I'm one of the best. When I do something, I take pride in it. And that's exactly how this is. I've spent a lot of time rebuilding myself into the type of guy I want people to see me as. I've traveled all over, gone to the best surgeons. It's like a forgery. I'm not saying none of it is real—it is—but there's an illusion, and if people know about it, it doesn't work anymore."

It meant no recognition, either, and very little support. There were always trade-offs.

"You're not some forged painting, Neal."

Neal shrugged. "It's not _that_ different. No matter how good a painting looks, if there's a problem with the provenance, someone will notice. You never noticed anything amiss until you looked into my history."

"But it is different. Your history doesn't determine if you're _real_ or not. I've always figured your past didn't match up with who you are now. I mean, I wasn't expecting _this_...." He raised his eyebrows. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little impressed. All the time I was chasing you, none of this came up. Does Mozzie know?"

"Yeah."

He decided it was best not to mention that Mozzie had helped him fake the therapist letters that he'd used to obtain surgery. He also decided not to mention that Alex knew, and that Kate had known when she was alive. No use in letting Peter believe he was the last to know.

"You know," Peter said, "you don't have to worry about people treating you differently around the office or anything like that. And I don't have a problem with this. I know Elizabeth wouldn't, either."

Neal could see Peter trying to be supportive. It was nice of him, but Neal was already dreading Peter's efforts. It'd been bad enough when Peter was trying to encourage his relationship with Sara. Peter was not exactly subtle, and Neal didn't want him to try too hard.

Still, Peter was trying, and that was about the best outcome Neal could hope for.

"Thanks," he said. "But if you don't mind, I'd prefer it if no one else knows about this. You can tell Elizabeth if you want, but I'd like to keep it quiet."

"Of course," Peter said. "It'll just be between us." Holding his coffee mug, he leaned back in his chair and smiled.

"What?"

"Faith, huh? I can't see you as a Faith."

Neal rolled his eyes. "Obviously, I couldn't, either."

"You don't hear about people named Faith robbing museums."

"Then I guess it's a good thing that I'm not named Faith anymore. And that I was never convicted of robbery."

Peter chuckled and looked at his watch. "I should probably be getting home. I'm already running late."

Neal got up to see him out. Peter set his empty cup on the counter and headed for the door. As he put his hand on the knob, he paused and turned around.

"If we keep looking into Ellen's death," he said, "it might call attention to your past. It's possible someone else will pick up on the same discrepancies I saw."

"I know. I'll deal with that if it comes up. It's worth it, for Ellen."

Peter nodded, opened the door, and left.

Neal rubbed his forehead. He'd been expecting this would happen eventually, but he hadn't been prepared for it tonight. Now, he was tired.

He wished, in a way, that the issue had never come up. But another part of him felt like a weight had been taken off his shoulders. He didn't have to worry about it anymore and, to his surprise, he was _glad_ Peter knew. He was getting to a point where Peter knew more about him than anyone, and he realized now that that wasn't such a bad thing.  



End file.
